One Fine Day.

At exactly 6:12 this evening, I put my laptop on the floor, my tired hand trying to steady it as it touched the carpet beneath my bed. My head hit the pillow. Sheer exhaustion set in. The best kind of exhaustion. For two nights, I had not let sleep come until all the laughter escaped and the wicks blew themselves out; until the cobbler had been gobbled, the firelight had dimmed and all blankets had been stretched over cabin-cozied bodies. All was quiet except for falling snow. It was time for sleep. Actual sleep.

Down in the valley, it came in like a storm. Reality. My cell phone was beeping with messages for work and my appointment book seemed to be shouting for attention. If I left my laptop open and on, the light streaming from the screen would be enough to keep me from falling fast into a full-surrendered sleep. Or that's what I told myself at laptop touch-down. I awoke one hour later to the sound of groceries hitting the kitchen floor and the feeling of cold air filtering through the hallway.

I'm back in bed after fending off sleep long enough to get some real food in my body. I've been laughing to myself all evening, thinking of fussball victories, color-contacts, shining statues, The Real Secret, and another few days worth of YTS theatrics. My appointment book is table-top, to my right. Closed. And, it's staying that way. After all, it's still a holiday. For a few minutes more.